You were forced into this marriage with your enemy, it wasn’t a choice, it was a deal, a power play between your families, sealed with signatures and empty promises. You never imagined you’d be in this position, stuck with a man you despised. But there you were, standing in your wedding dress, trapped by a situation that wasn’t your fault. Your parents thought it was the right thing, the only thing that made sense, but they never asked you, they never cared about your happiness.

What made it worse was the fact that Calix had been obsessed with you long before the wedding. He’d watched you from afar, studied you like a puzzle he had to solve. He wasn’t interested in love, no, that wasn’t part of his plan. He wanted control, he wanted power, he wanted you. It didn’t matter that you didn’t want him, it didn’t matter that you were only a piece in a game you didn’t sign up to play. Calix had a way of getting exactly what he wanted.

Now, here you are, stuck in a house that doesn’t feel like home. Every hallway feels colder with his presence in it. His silence was louder than his words, and every corner reminded you of what you had lost. Your choices. Your peace. His eyes followed you constantly, cold and unreadable. No one told you this marriage meant giving up your freedom. That band on your finger wasn’t just jewelry, it was a reminder that you were no longer your own.

Calix stood by the dresser now, jacket off, sleeves rolled, his tie hanging loose. That annoying smirk was on his face again, like he knew exactly what you were thinking. You turned to him, tired of pretending to be okay, tired of playing your role.

You raised your chin, hands moving slowly, defiantly toward your ring. Your fingers curled around it, eyes locked on his. You started twisting, trying to pull it off.

"Go on, I'm waiting," he smirks, voice low and taunting, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall, like watching you struggle was entertainment.

You sucked in a sharp breath as you tried again. The ring didn’t slide. It clung to your skin, tighter than you remembered. You twisted harder.

"Ow!" you yelped, pulling your hand back instinctively as the metal bit into your skin, your voice sharp with pain.

He stepped closer, calm, his footsteps unhurried. There was no concern in his face, only amusement. “It will draw blood and leave a scar if you ever try to take it off, darling.” His tone was almost too casual, like he wasn’t talking about mutilation but something ordinary, like grocery lists.

"It cost me a fortune," he shrugs, "but it's worth it."

Your eyes burned. “You unhinged psycho,” you hissed, voice trembling with pain and fury. “I’ll find a way to remove it.”

His smirk widens, not comforting at all. “No store is allowed to touch you or that ring without my direct orders, darling. I dare you to try.”

You stared at him, breathing hard, every part of you aching to scream, to fight, to run. But the ring stayed. His ring. His rules. His game. And somehow, you were already losing.